


Disenchanted

by greerian



Category: The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Genderbending, Internalized Homophobia, Internalized Transphobia, Lesbian Character, Trans Male Character, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 15:37:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5791078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greerian/pseuds/greerian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>'Be a good girl.' He always is.</i><br/><i>He </i>always <i>is, and that’s not going to change today.</i><br/><i>He turns to face the building, and retraces the familiar steps towards the entrance.</i><br/><i>Kevin Price is ready to face another day.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Disenchanted

**Author's Note:**

> How about that trans!Kevin Price? 
> 
> I literally have no idea how to tag this, so if there's any major things I missed, please tell me. I'm so tired I can't think straight right now.  
> Headcanon: little Kaitlyn Price watched Field of Dreams and decided the moment it was over that she wanted to be Kevin Costner. Hence the name Kevin Price.  
> Headcanon: in Kev's helldream, literally everyone is wearing a dress. It's not red, it's pink, he's naked, and everyone's yelling Bible/Book of Mormon verses at him.  
> Headcanon: Kevin still has no idea what a clitoris is.  
> Headcanon: Elder McKinley did some research about LGBT stuff, so he's not completely ignorant about Kevin's gender issues.
> 
> Also, here's a fucked up thing on how the Mormon church (at one time) viewed women: "Elders, never love your wives one hair's breadth further than they adorn the Gospel, never love them so but that you can leave them at a moment's warning without shedding a tear...  
> I will now ask the sisters, do you believe that you are worthy of any greater love than you bestow upon your children? Do you believe that you should be beloved by your husbands and parents any further than you acknowledge and practise the principle of eternal lives? Every person who understands this principle would answer in a moment, "Let no being's affections be placed upon me any further than mine are on eternal principles-principles that are calculated to endure and exalt me, and bring me up to be an heir of God and a joint heir with Jesus Christ." - Brigham Young

_A layer of foundation, applied with smooth, practiced fingertips. Blush; he can’t look pale or washed out. An eyebrow pencil draws on perfect brows, just like it did the day before, just like it will tomorrow. Eyeliner; but not too thick. He can’t end up looking like a whore. Mascara. The tube is stuck into the top pocket of the backpack; he’ll have to reapply it at least twice before coming back home. Lip gloss, sticky and pink and glittery. That goes into the same pocket, for the same reason. He pulls his uniform shirt on, carefully buttoning up the front and making sure not a smudge of powder or bronzer stains the sharp collar. He pulls up his black pleated skirt with far less care. It hits the tops of his knees, the way it has to, but he’ll have to be careful not to walk too fast; it’s a tiny bit too short, and Mom can’t afford to buy him another one until next year. He pulls white stockings up over smooth, neatly shaved legs, and slips on his usual school flats. Checking his reflection in the mirror, he twists his long, silky hair (perfectly conditioned and straight) into a neat bun, clipping his bangs back with a few bobby pins._

_Perfect._

_He double and triple checks his backpack; he can’t afford to miss a single assignment, not this close to the end of the year. His grades are perfect, but they have to stay that way._

_“Honey?” his mom calls. “You’re going to be late for school!”_

_“I’ll be right there!” he replies. His stomach turns at the thought of eating, but Mom won’t drive him to school unless he’s eaten breakfast._

_Swinging his neat, almost cute flower-and-starburst patterned backpack onto his shoulders, he walks downstairs with neat, measured steps. The shoes he’s wearing are great for walking around school hallways, but they like to trip him up on the stairs, and falling is just too embarrassing. He grips at the handrail with a white-knuckled hand until he reaches the floor._

_“Good morning, Mom.”_

_“Good morning, dear; I made grits. Your bowl is on the table.”_

_He suppresses a sigh, and goes to eat. He hates grits. They’re… gritty. And really disgusting as breakfast food, especially with the cheese and garlic his mom has already added. He swallows hard, and digs in. His siblings are already all there, shoveling the yellow mush into their greedy mouths, and as he takes his first bite, his little brother Ben catches his eye and squeals._

_“Hey!” Ben says. “Hey, did you see the thing I did? I made it last night after dinner, and it’s really awesome. Can I show you, please please please?”_

_He jumps up from the table, ready to fetch whatever project he’s made (probably something LEGO related), but Mom has a hand on his shoulder and pushes him right back into his seat with a smile._

_“No, Ben, eat your breakfast,” she says. “You’re all going to be late to school at this rate.”_

_Ben pouts, hanging his head, and he reaches across the table to ruffle his soft hair._

_“I’ll check it out after school, okay?” he says. Ben grins, mollified._

_But Mom catches sight of the clock, then, and suddenly they’re all being herded towards the minivan._

_“Hurry,” she says, “hurry, hurry!” She grabs his arm. “Help me with your sisters?” she asks._

_He nods, just like always._

_“Come on, girls,” he says, smiling, “let’s all get buckled up.” The little ones whine, but he’s had plenty of practice with this. It’s not hard to slip a hand around, pin their arms, and get the buckle clicked, all before they even notice. He’s almost proud of himself, until Rebecca, strapped into her carrier, reaches out with a chubby little fist and tugs, ruining his perfect hair._

_He hates fixing his hair in the car._

_“Oh, come on, honey,” Mom says, starting the car and already checking to make sure there’s no one in the way on the street of their quiet neighborhood. “You can fix it at school, if it’s such a big deal. I don’t know why you always put it up, anyway. It looks lovely down.”_

_Sliding into the front seat, resting his backpack on the floor, he mutters something she’ll never hear: “You wouldn’t understand, anyway.”_

_But everyone is buckled; everyone is in uniform; she’s more concerned with backing out of the garage and getting on the road to notice her son’s momentary disrespect. He’s well aware; he never would have said anything if he thought she would notice._

_He fixes his hair in the car, carefully brushing it out as best he can with the limited space the passenger seat gives and the mediocre hairbrush he brings to school for emergencies like this. He manages to get it into a bun, not a perfect one, but one that will work, just as the minivan enters the school parking lot._

_“Have a wonderful day, kids!” Mom calls, unlocking the doors. “Anna, honey, do you have your backpack?” Anna nods and runs off, just like all the other kids, and soon it’s just Rebecca, Mom, and him. He’s out of the car, shoving the hairbrush back into his backpack and swinging it up onto his shoulders, when Mom reaches out, and takes his hand._

_“Have a great day,” she says, smiling. “Be a good girl, okay?”_

_“Sure, Mom,” he replies. “Of course.”_

_She nods, satisfied. She always is. “I’ll see you later.”_

_He waves as she pulls away, and then his smile falls. Be a good girl. He always is._

_But he takes a deep breath and sets his shoulders. He always is, and that’s not going to change today._

_He turns to face the building, and retraces the familiar steps towards the entrance._

_Kevin Price is ready to face another day._

*****

Finally, it’s time for his mission. Maybe changing the world and making some actual, tangible progress at last will put Kevin in Heavenly Father’s sight, and get him one step closer to Orlando.

“Sister Price!”

“Yes, sir!”

“Your mission companion will be… Sister Cunningham!”

Sister Cunningham. Lovely. But Kevin puts on a bright smile as he greets the chubby, bouncy-curled blonde girl who he’s watched consistently screw up every exercise this group of missionaries-to-be has been given.

“That’s me!” she cries, shoving her more demure fellows out of the way. “That’s me. Hello!”

“Hi,” he replies, brightly, and Sister Cunningham beams up at him, all rosy cheeks and acne; inwardly he cringes.

But the head of the missionary training center doesn’t stop; he’s got work to do, and they all have places to be. “And your mission location is…”

Kevin can practically hear the drum roll and he crosses his fingers. _Please be Orlando,_ he prays, _please be Orlando._

“...Uganda!” The imaginary, celebratory music comes to a screeching halt.

“Uganda,” Kevin echoes, numbly.

“Uganda!” Sister Cunningham shouts, apparently overjoyed. Kevin turns to her, just about ready to snap, _do you even know how dangerous Uganda is? How far away it is? Do you even know_ where _it is?!_ , when she continues: “Cool! Where is that?”

“Africa!” the mission president announces, far too cheerfully.

“Oh, boy!” Sister Cunningham says, grinning, “like _Lion King_!”

Kevin wants to puke.

*****

The feeling doesn’t go away. It lasts through the familial farewell at the airport, in which Kevin’s parents oh so lovingly reminded him to act, as always, like a lady and a daughter of Christ, and Sister Cunningham’s parents revealed that his mission companion is a pathological liar. It lasts through the actual preview of hell that is the flight from Salt Lake City, Utah, to Seattle, Washington, to Dubai, United Arab Emirates, to Entebbe, Uganda, that lasted over 40 hours and involved sitting next to Sister Cunningham for every single one of them. Even if he weren’t flying to a mission 7,646 miles from where he _wants_ to be, and even if he didn’t hate flying more than almost anything in the world, and even if he were allowed to bring his cell phone (and, therefore, any of his Disney music), banned due to it being a distraction from his mission, this flight would still be miserable due to that fact alone.

The two of them have nothing to talk about. Sister Cunningham, whose name is apparently Anne - but she goes by Annie, not that that’s allowed in the mission handbook, so it doesn’t really matter, but she just wanted her mission companion to know -  has very diverse interests, all in things Kevin has never been allowed to watch. When he tells her this, she lights up.

“I’ll tell you all about it!” she says, clutching at his arm. And then, she does, miraculously stopping only to sleep at some point over the Pacific Ocean.

Kevin thinks, when that happens, that maybe he’ll get a moment of blessed peace, but between the babies crying (what kind of sick freak takes an infant from Seattle to Dubai?), the hiss of pressurized cabin air that feels like it’s sticking to the inside of his lungs, and the sudden wrongness of his hair, his blouse, his modest, calf length skirt, the _makeup_ all over his face, it ends up being a long night.

Usually when he feels this way, he can put on a pair of Jack’s sweatpants and a church camp t-shirt, tie his hair up in the tightest bun possible, and scrub his face so hard the caked on layers of makeup all come off and it’s just his own face he’s left staring at in the bathroom mirror. He feels ugly doing it, but it's better than tearing up one of his most elegant dresses (once), looking up inappropriate images to distract himself (thrice), or ripping out his own hair (...too many times). But now? He’s stuck between a window and a girl who snores and has no concept of physical boundaries, and the bathroom in the back of the plane is much too small to do anything, especially not wash his makeup off.

So he grits his teeth and deals with it, reciting appropriate verses from the Book of Mormon and Proverbs 31 until the words become meaningless. ‘ _Favor is deceitful, and beauty is vain,’_ he reminds himself, closing his eyes and gripping at the armrests so tightly the very bones of his hands ache, ‘ _but a woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised. Give her of the fruit of her hands; and let her own works praise her in the gates.’ Be a woman Heavenly Father would be proud of, Kaitlyn._

Sister Cunningham chooses then to wake up.

“Mission companion!” she says cheerfully, wiping her eyes and shaking her ridiculous curls in Kevin’s face, “did you sleep at all?”

“‘Strength and honor are her clothing,’” he mutters, “‘and in her tongue is the law of kindness.’”

“What was that?”

“Nothing, Sister, just some... Biblical reminders. I think I’ll try to get some sleep now.”

*****

That nauseous feeling follows him through the Entebbe Airport, and onto the disgusting bus they have to take, crowded and smelly and late by almost half an hour, and definitely into the depressingly small, rural village they’re dropped off in. It’s as disgusting as the bus, but more so, almost, because at least on the bus they had the promise of eventually _leaving_. And there were no (visible) rotting animal carcasses on the bus.

And then, big men with actual, gigantic _guns_ show up, threatening and yelling just the way Kevin was told they would. Sister Cunningham clings to him, wrapping chubby arms around his waist, and shrieks as they rifle through the cram-packed suitcases they brought, and he watches, not quite terrified enough to not be sick, as his neatly folded dresses and skirts and blouses are all thrown into the air, along with his _other_ garments, feminine products, and hair supplies. He almost wishes the men would shoot him at this point.

But they don’t, of course, by the mercy of Heavenly Father, and Kevin and Sister Cunningham are left, frozen with shock, in the middle of the village, with not a single change of clothes or anything except what they had the foresight to stick in their pockets.

 _Could this day get any worse?_ Kevin thinks. And then, because his life is starting to very neatly mirror the life of Job, it does.

By the end of the villagers’ little song-and-dance number about cursing the name of God,  complete with middle fingers blatantly raised to the heavens, he just wants to go to bed, start dreaming about Orlando, and never wake up. He is completely numb as he trudges after Sister Cunningham (who, somehow, still has the energy to cheerfully converse with their guide, a petite African girl named Nabulungi), and it is only the force of habit and the phantom ringing of Proverbs 31 in his ears that makes him smile, straighten the denim skirt that is so heavy and clingy his thighs are sticking together with sweat, and thank Nabulungi politely.

As she leaves, crowning the absolutely _wonderful_ first impression of this village with a warning against, of all things, flies that bury themselves under your skin and eat you from the inside out, Sister Cunningham sighs, and when Kevin looks up at her, he sees that her eyes are wide as she stares after the girl.

“She’s so…” Sister Cunningham says, “she’s so dreamy!” and she sighs, clapping her hands to her cheeks. “She’s such a hot shade of black!”

Kevin blinks. This can’t… no. Sister Cunningham has a crush on… _Heavenly Father, why?_

His companion, who is already a fat and annoying failure of a missionary, is a _lesbian_.

He barely resists the urge to scream.

“Let’s just go inside and meet the other sisters, all right?”

Kevin turns the knob, using what feels like the last of his strength to push it open. On the other side… darkness. The house looks deserted; there’s nobody there.

“Hello?” Kevin tries hopelessly. Gosh, he does _not_ have the energy to try to find another place to st-

The lights flick on, and from the hallway pour a train of boys, all neatly dressed in black and white: the Mormon missionary standard for elders. Kevin only has half of a second to gasp before one of them calls out “The new recruits are h-”

He stops, looking at the two new arrivals, his face a mask of confusion. The other elders behind him are no better, trading glances like they don’t understand what they’re seeing.

“Ladies,” the redhead in front says, coming forward to greet them. “Is there something I can do for you?”

Kevin takes a breath, but before he can reply, Sister Cunningham says “Yeah, we’re from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, and we’re here to help!”

The man stares at them both for a good five seconds. “ _You_ arethe new recruits?” he asks. “But you’re… We were told to expect an Elder Price and an Elder Cunningham.”

“I’m Sister Cunningham!” says Sister Cunningham. “And my mission companion is Sister Price.”

“Oh,” the man replies.

Kevin almost laughs. The elder looks so dumbfounded, and almost upset. If he were in the man’s place, he’d probably feel that way, too. After all, he expected to be sent to a house full of sisters, not a house full of _elders_. Where are they supposed to sleep?

“Well,” the man says, visibly straightening his shoulders and putting himself back together, “welcome to you both, sisters. I am Elder McKinley, current district leader for District Nine of the Uganda mission. We were expecting two new elders, so we have a room prepared, but… where are your things?”

“Our bags were stolen,” Sister Cunningham replies, “by some guys for the general.”

“Oh,” the elders chorus, and Elder McKinley nods, tight-lipped.

“We’ll get you new things,” he says, “or send another notice to the mission president. We’ll have to tell him that you’re _here_ , as well, so… well, anyway, I’m sure we can knock up some sort of clothes for you for tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Kevin says, gratefully. Maybe everything in the entire world is going wrong right now, but he has a place to sleep, he has the promise of clean clothes (that aren’t this disgustingly hot skirt), that naseous feeling is mostly gone, and… and somewhere, somehow, _somebody_ called him ‘Elder Price’.

Elder McKinley smiles. “Of course, Sister.”

The feeling comes back with a vengeance.

*****

It takes Kevin a long moment in the morning to realize where he is. It’s hotter than home, even just in his underwear as he is, and the first thing he notices is the feeling of sweat between his skin and the blanket. The second thing he notices is Sister Cunningham.

“...what are you wearing?” he asks, sitting up and trying to tell by feel how awful of a condition his hair is in.

“Oh, this?” Sister Cunningham grins, twirling in a garishly blue and pink swish of fabric. “It’s a _gomesi._ Natalie came by this morning and dropped it off for me. Isn’t it nice?”

Kevin rubs his burning eyes, trying desperately to connect the name with anyone in this country. “Who is Natalie?” he asks, finally giving up.

“The girl from last night!” she replies, almost shouting. “I couldn’t get her name right, so she said I could call her Natalie until I do! Isn’t that sweet?”

Dumbfounded, and with his mind still muddled from sleep, Kevin nods.

“So, yeah, she went and found me this from a friend of hers, and I think it’s a little too big, but I really, really like it. I feel like I could blend in here, you know?”

Kevin sighs. “Sure, Sister,” he says, falling back against his pillow. “I guess she only brought one for you, am I right?”

“Well, yeah,” his mission companion replies, leaning over him with a concerned frown. “You said you would make ‘other arrangements’.” She uses honest-to-Heavenly-Father air quotes, and Kevin closes his eyes. Darn his stupid pride.

“Are you okay, Sister Price?” Sister Cunningham asks, and he nods his head. It’s too early in the morning to cope with the insanity this day is already threatening to bring. Of course, he knew to expect difficulty on his mission, particularly in settling in, but this… this is a test on a whole new level than what the Missionary Training Center taught him to expect.

“Okay…” his companion says, clearly disbelieving. “Well, I’m going to sing for you, just in case.”

“Wait, what?”

“ _Sleep now little honey, put your cares away_ ,” she croons, “ _Nappy with a happy face, tomorrow’s a latter day_.”

Kevin frowns. “Is that a lullaby?” he asks.

“Uh-huh!” Sister Cunningham replies. “My mom used to sing it to me whenever I would feel sad about things, so I kind of memorized it and started singing it to myself. And I thought you might like it, because no matter how bad today is, or how bad yesterday was, tomorrow is a latter day!”

 _Tomorrow is a what now? Does she actually think that’s what ‘latter day’ means?_ He opens his mouth to correct her, because, _really_ , how did she make it through the rigorous Missionary Training Center curriculum without understanding one of the most fundamental concepts of the Mormon faith?

But then there’s a knock at the door.

“Good morning, sisters!” a chipper voice calls. “May I come in?”

“Sure!” Sister Cunningham replies, and Kevin has to scramble to pull the blanket up to cover himself before Elder McKinley sticks his head in the door.

“Sister Price, Sister Cunningham,” he greets, politely averting his eyes, “I know that Miss Hatimbi came by earlier with a dress and, considering the circumstances, that might be the most appropriate for you, Sister Cunningham, but for you, Sister Price, I have something that might work in the meantime. It’s not a skirt,” he hastens to say, looking almost ashamed, “but you look to be about Elder Neeley’s size, and he had an extra set of uniform pants. I have an extra shirt and tie, so, if you’d like, they’re yours until your luggage is retrieved or we make other arrangements. It might serve you better than what you were wearing last night.” And he holds out a stack of clothes, a sunflower patterned tie neatly folded on top.

Kevin reaches out for it desperately before remembering (almost too late) that he’s only in his underwear underneath the blanket.

“Sister Cunningham, could you please…?”

“You got it, mission companion!” she chirps, bounding to the door to take the small stack. “Thank you, Elder McKinley!”

“You’re welcome, girls,” he says with a smile. “We’re all gathering for breakfast soon, so feel free to join us as soon as you’re ready.”

“Okay!” Sister Cunningham replies. Kevin, focused on the blessed relief that has come in the form of clean, _men'_ s clothes, forgets to answer before the door closes.

“Give me those,” he says the moment the latch clicks, leaping out of bed.

“Oh,” his mission companion says, obviously confused as he snatches the items out of her hands. “Here you go.”

“Thanks,” he mutters, hurriedly unbuttoning the first couple buttons on the shirt before haphazardly pulling it on over his head. It’s too big, that’s for sure; he’ll have to tuck it in a lot, and roll up the sleeves a few inches, and it’s still probably going to balloon out around his waist, but it’s clean, it’s light, and it’s a _men'_ s shirt. He almost squeals at the pants. They actually fit, particularly with the extra fabric from the shirt padding the waistband, and as he fiddles with the tie (it can’t be that hard to tie, right?), he suddenly starts to feel smart, and handsome, and competent. It’s a good feeling.

*****

There’s something incredibly powerful about those clothes, Kevin thinks. After Elder McKinley helps him tie the tie (and now he’s going to make sure he knows how to take care of it himself, because that was far too uncomfortable of an experience to repeat), he and Sister Cunningham head out to proselytize, and it goes… well, usually not even Kevin is so enthusiastic at sharing the gospel. He, usually anyway, is more aware of his audience’s reactions, too, but this time he went all out. Maybe yesterday they all got off to a bad start, but today is a new day, Heavenly Father is on his side, and it’s _so_ much easier to work in pants. He feels like he can do anything, he might even be able to convert this whole village, despite whatever Satan throws his way, until, without warning, the Ugandan women are screaming and everyone cowers away from the group of men who stalk into the village square.

“Who is having a party without me?” the leader cries, looming over the others with an eyepatch and a nasty glare. “Oh, you all got some white women. Why didn’t you tell me?”

He lifts one of his dirty hands, the one not hovering by the holster at his hip, and takes a hold of Kevin’s jaw. “Look at this one,” he says, eyeing him. “Were you trying to keep her for yourself?”

He laughs.

“But no matter,” he says, shoving him out of the way. “I am General Butt-Fucking Naked. Because when I _kill_ and drink blood for power, I do it _butt-fucking naked_ _!_ This village belongs to me.”

“We don’t belong to anyone!” someone cries. Kevin flinches; if had the courage to move right now, he’d probably tell the guy to shut up. When there are men with guns facing you down, you _don’t_ _talk back._ “You only lead a gang of thugs who mutilate women for no reason!”

“For no reason?” the general echoes thunderingly. Kevin closes his eyes, sending up a frantic prayer for him to _please_ get out of this, with no mutilation and no more touching, and back to the mission hut before anyone gets hurt. “The clitoris is an abomination! It’s wicked pleasure for women has brought a _wrath_ upon Uganda and it must be cast out!”

Kevin’s eyes fly open and lock with Sister Cunningham’s.

“I didn’t think that was a real thing!” the girl hisses, “The whole… getting _that_ cut off.”

“Shh!” Kevin replies, frantic, but the general’s attention is on the man in front of them, who, to Kevin’s distress, is _still_ trying to fight.

“My wife’s body is none of your business,” he says. _You have a wife and you’re doing this?!_ Kevin thinks. “And _you_ are no general.”

The general comes up to them, and Kevin starts repenting of every one of his sins. _Heavenly Father, I’m sorry for every inappropriate thing I’ve ever thought, and I’m sorry about being mad about coming here, and I’m sorry about wanting to be-_

“By the end of the week all females in this village will be circumcised,” the general barks. “Or I will get butt-fucking naked,” he pulls out a gun; Kevin grabs Sister Cunningham, “and do this!”

A gunshot. A beat. Kevin screams. He’s alive, he’s… there’s something wet and warm splattered across him, but he’s most likely alive. He’s alive, and he’s running back towards the mission hut, with Sister Cunningham’s arm in his grip.

“Sister Price!” she says, “Hold up! What about Natalie?”

“She’ll be fine,” Kevin snaps. _Just get back inside._ “Her dad probably took her inside as soon as that man showed up.”

The mission house appears in the distance, and he almost sobs in relief. Gosh, he’s not crying, is he? He lifts his free hand to touch his face, but stops; it’s spattered and dripping with blood.

“Oh my gosh.”

 

The two of them burst in, breathing hard, and every pair of eyes is immediately on them.

“Sister Price, what happened to you?” somebody asks.

Somehow, Kevin brain decides on saying: “Africa is nothing like the _Lion King_! I think that movie took a _lot_ of artistic license.” Which, while true, is probably not going to explain why he’s soaked in someone else’s blood with the urgency that will keep them all from getting _shot_. He’s trying very hard to breathe, at least to calm down some, but then he looks down at his shirt, and it’s like looking down while standing on a tightrope over Niagara Falls, because he’s _covered in blood_. Some Ugandan man just died, and his blood is all over Kevin. He shivers so hard he ends up letting go of Sister Cunningham.

“She’s upset because we just saw a guy get shot in the face,” she says, by way of explanation, and all the elders tsk sympathetically. But then they go back to their scripture reading or whatever other preparation they were working on, and… that’s it. _They’re not worried? They’re not going to pray for the village, or ask who it was? They’re not going to try to help me?_

“I cannot continue my mission in this way!” he cries. “There is absolutely _no_ way to do something incredible here!”

“Now, now, Sister Price,” says Elder McKinley, coming up to her, “I understand that what you’ve seen may have been… _disturbing_ , but we have more important problems to deal with right now. District Nine is about to be evaluated by the mission president, and, especially with you and Sister Cunningham’s surprise arrival, we can’t just run about willy-nilly, panicking over the little things.”

“Since when is a man getting shot in the face a little thing?” But the mission president; Kevin latches onto that. “The mission president,” he says. “That’s it! I have to go see the mission president and get transferred! There is no way on earth they could have meant for me to come _here_ in the first place.” Of course not. District Nine wasn’t some divine mistake, or heavenly sign that he’s on the wrong path. It’s just a mistake. And, wherever he’s actually sent, Kevin may not get to wear an elder’s uniform, but it’ll be Heavenly Father’s actual plan, and he’ll be able to get away from this hellhole.

Sister Cunningham takes his hand, breaking his frenzied thoughts, and he jerks out of her grip. “Sister, Sister!” she says soothingly, “I know today was rough, but remember - tomorrow is a latter day!”

That’s it. Kevin Price has officially found his limit.

“‘Latter day’ doesn’t mean tomorrow!” he screams, turning on her. “It means the reckoning! The afterlife! ‘Latter days’ where all good people go to Heavenly Father and get everything they’ve always wanted!” _Where I get my Planet Orlando!_

He looks around. All of the elders are staring at him, like _he_ ’s the crazy one when they barely even cared about someone dying.

“I’m leaving,” he says, spinning on his heel and heading towards the door. The walls of the mission house suddenly feel too confining. Yes, there’s a lethal general out there, but there’s careless, pathetic elders and an idiot of a mission companion in here, and he’s so riled up right now he can’t handle staying in.

“Hey, hey!” Elder McKinley says, throwing himself in his way. “Are you forgetting rule number 23? You can _not_ leave the mission quarters after nine PM! And, you said yourself, that horrible general is out there.” His eyes go wide, entreating, and for a second, Kevin almost stays back. But then he continues: “I can’t possibly, in good conscience, allow my sister in the church to endanger herself like that.”

Kevin takes a fortifying breath. “To heck with rules,” he says, setting his jaw and lifting his chin. “I’m _not_ wasting the two most important years of my life.” This is his only chance to ensure that everything in his life has been worth it, and he’ll be darned if he lets it slip by. He shoves past Elder McKinley and out the door.

*****

Kevin tries to be surprised he likes coffee; he can’t find the energy. It’s all too easy to keep drinking as the caffeine floods his system, making him jittery and too big for his own skin, and as the memories from the past 24 hours play out like a horror film.

He washed the blood out of his shirt in the bathroom of the bus station; it wasn’t like he hadn’t had plenty of practice. But sitting there waiting for the bus, the exhaustion that had by no means gone away with the previous night’s sleep hit him full force, and he was thrown into one of the worst dreams he’s ever had. And, of course, when he woke up, every single one of the elders was there, hovering over him, talking about how worried they’d been. He’d been so guilty he agreed to stay, and it was hard to miss the relief and satisfaction on their faces at the news, but the minute _Sister Cunningham_ showed up, bragging about the “ten eager Africans” she had managed to get interested in the church (and no way, Kevin wasn’t jealous of that success at all, not after his incredible show-and-tell performance, no sirree) they all deserted him, flocking to the girl who had actually _done_ some good.

But Kevin got an idea; Elder McKinley started talking about that general, and he decided, with all the fervor of someone who had just had the literal fires of hell lit under their ass, that he was going to go convert that murdering, female-genital-mutilating warlord. And not only that, he was going to do it all by himself.

No wonder he got his Book of Mormon shoved up his ass.

 _It could have been worse,_ he thinks as he downs cup number eleven. _He could have raped me._ Kevin almost laughs at himself. What a source of comfort.

“Hit me up,” he says. “Another one. Come on!” The woman behind the counter makes a face, but gives him a refill. Really, that’s all he can ask for. It’s not like he’s going to get good customer service out here.

“Sister Price? Are you all right?”

Kevin groans audibly. Sister Cunningham? _Really?_ “Well, well,” he says, turning on the stool top to his face his ex-mission companion. The successful, brilliant, _lesbian_ missionary. “If it isn’t the Super Mormon _._ Spreading ‘the word’? Making more brainwashed zombies?!” _Like the world needs more of those._

“Sister Price, what’s happened to you?” And of course she sounds genuinely concerned. Not only is she better at the things Kevin was good at that Kevin was, she’s also better at everything else, like having empathy towards people. Wonderful.

“I woke up,” he snaps. _I woke up to the fact that I’ll never get the things I’ve sacrificed for,_ he thinks. _Don’t judge me, Sister. You don’t know what I’ve been through._

“Of course you woke up; you drank twelve cups of coffee!”

Kevin lets himself roll his eyes.

“How is it, huh?” he asks, standing and heading to loom over her. “You tell me how it is that _you_ converted all those people into Mormons!”

“I don’t know. Once I baptized Natalie the others just fell into place.”

Kevin steps back. “You get everything you pray for. _You_ do all the things I was supposed to do.” _Redeem myself. Make Heavenly Father proud. Earn my rightful spot in paradise_. “Doesn’t that seem a little telling to you?”

“Telling of what?” _Oh,_ now _she’s snapping._

“That the universe doesn’t work the way we were told!”

The whole, entire, endless universe. None of it makes sense anymore. He’s never going to get his Orlando. He sighs, and his shoulders sag. Gosh, this is pathetic. Sister Cunningham doesn’t even know why he’s so angry.

Maybe he should tell her, to get it off his chest. A purge of sorts. It’s not like it matters anymore, does it?

“When I was nine years old,” he says, looking off towards the horizon, “my family took a trip to Orlando, Florida. It was the most wonderful, most magical place I had ever seen. There was Disney, and Epcot, and SeaWorld… Then, one day, my dad got lost.

“We were trying to get to Leu Gardens, and… we turned onto Mills Avenue. It was boring, and my siblings were getting antsy. There were only four of us, and Mom was pregnant with Anna, but they were loud, so I was looking out the window and not paying attention.

“There, just out the car window, was a building, with a big, rainbow sign on it, that said “Pride 2005”. I knew pride was a sin, so I didn’t know why anybody would be making a big sign for it. But… the people there, hanging the sign… I only saw a little bit, and I was just a little kid, but they were wearing bright colored clothes, with short skirts and crazy hair, and I thought... I thought it looked amazing.”

Kevin shrugs, trying not to show how much this memory hurts to share. He’s never told this story to _anyone_. “I asked my mom what those people were doing, and why they would have a big sign about pride. She…” He hesitates. “I’ll never forget what she said. ‘There are some very bad people in the world, Kaitlyn,’ she told me, ‘people who rejoice in their wickedness, and think that it’s right, and natural.’ I didn’t know what she meant, but when I asked, she told me to never talk about it again.” Kevin sighs, and subconsciously tugs at his hair.

“I never looked it up, I never talked about it,” he says. “But I knew, I _knew,_ that those people were like me. I followed all the rules, I was the perfect Mormon girl, but those weirdos on Mills Street in Orlando, Florida, would understand. And, and I thought, _those are the people I want to meet in the afterlife!_ My parents told me that if I made God proud, and did what the church told me, and I married a good man who did the same, in Latter Days I could have whatever I wanted. So I worked and I worked, and even when I studied Mormon stories and thought, _that doesn’t make any sense,_ or I thought I just couldn’t keep going for a single more day like this, I kept _working_ because I was told one day, if I was very faithful and very dutiful and I followed every single rule, I would get my reward: Planet Orlando!”

He laughs. It sounds so stupid out loud. This is why he’d never told anyone. It’s a dumb little _girl_ ’s daydream, as ridiculous as Prince Charming and ‘happily ever after’.

“What do I have now?” he asks, slumping back into his seat. “No clothes, no hair products, no passport, no money. I can’t even get a ticket home.”

Sister Cunningham opens her mouth to reply, and, surprisingly, Kevin isn’t scared. It feels good, in a painful way, to pick off that scab and get the truth out, and he’s miserable now, but somebody came looking for him, so maybe the world still has a little sense in it, after all.

“All right, Sister, look… the mission president is coming, and he finds me without my companion, well, you know that looks very bad. So if you could just…”

“Oh,” Kevin says. “That’s why you came.” _Nope, absolutely not a good thing in the world anymore._  Maybe if he were more of a girl, he’d start crying, but as it is…

“No! I came because I care and-”

“Bull poop!”

Sister Cunningham flinches back.

“That’s bull poop, Sister, and you _know_ it.” Kevin isn’t going to let her get away with ‘proper’ Mormon conduct and unconditional love,  not when he knows it’s all an act. Imagine, Sister Cunningham being a paradigm of handbook behavior. That more than anything proves it’s all a farce.

“I know we aren’t the best companions,” she answers apologetically, “but if can _please_ just act like we’re still together in front of the mission president, you can get your ticket home, I can get my medal and we never have to see each other again.”

Going home… is it worth it? Well. It’s not like his mission really matters anymore.

“Fine. But don’t talk to me, and don’t touch me.”

*****

To his surprise, it’s Elder McKinley who finds him after everything falls apart and gets put back together again, with the sun starting to set and the sound of the village’s celebration off in the distance. Kevin is sitting on a stack of firewood against a tree, too tired to care too much about the spiders and snakes living inside, when the redheaded man approaches, standing awkwardly a few feet away.

“May I sit down?” he asks.

Kevin nods. He doesn’t dislike Elder McKinley, not at all, but he’s definitely not going to go out of his way to make him think so. Although, he’s hinted at being homosexual. Maybe he wouldn’t be interested at all in ‘Sister Price’. It’s a strangely comforting thought. If only things were different, and Kevin was actually…

He stops that thought in it’s tracks. He’s already out here moping when he should be at the party; there is absolutely no need to bring anything of _that_ nature into it.

“So,” Elder McKinley says, smoothing down the fabric of his pants, “today was quite a day, wasn’t it?”

His eyes flick over to Kevin, and he’s suddenly self-conscious.

“I’m keeping the clothes,” he announces abruptly.

Elder McKinley smiles. “I figured you would,” he replies. “They… they suit you, Sister.”

Kevin gets the odd urge to straighten his tie, and before he knows what he’s saying, the words slip out: “Don’t call me that.”

McKinley’s brow furrows. “Why not?” he asks. “I mean, Sister Price, you know that by the rules of the missionary handbook that we-”

“Fuck the rules,” he says, stomach twisting at his own audacity. “If we’re telling the mission president to shove it, we might as fuck the handbook, too.” The profanity rolls off his tongue with delicious, addictive ease. “Besides, we’re breaking rule 72 right now.”

Elder McKinley swallows.

“Sister Price, I don’t-”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not-” Well, that’s the problem, isn’t it? It _is_ his name, it will probably _always_ be his name, just like these won’t be his clothes, just like the clothes he’s supposed to be wearing are flowy and frilly and _feminine_ , just like he’s always going to have to live with the physical evidence of needing a husband to help atone for Eve’s original sin, of needing a husband for salvation, of needed a husband for completion, for Planet- “I…” Kevin trails off.

“I’m not quite sure it would be appropriate to use first names in front of the others,” McKinley says slowly, “but, in the case that we find ourselves alone, which, may I remind you, is a violation of rule 75, I suppose I can call you…?” he looks towards Kevin expectantly.

Kevin takes a deep breath. He has a choice now: _Kaitlyn_ or _Kevin_. Except… he really shouldn’t have a choice, should he? This isn’t really something he gets to have an opinion about. His parents named him ‘Kaitlyn’, the name on his passport is ‘Kaitlyn’, he’s always been called ‘Kaitlyn’! It’s his _name_ , why doesn’t it _fit_?

“You know, Si- um,” McKinley says, “I thought you were a little different when you first came to join District Nine. Especially considering Sister Cunningham’s obvious proclivities, I… I wondered. Are you, um… sexually confused?”

Kevin almost laughs. “No,” he says, “I’m not. Not like _that_. I’m not a lesbian. I almost wish I was, that would make everything easier.” Oh, he shouldn’t have said that.

“What do you mean?” Elder McKinley asks, and _of course_ , he probably won’t let it go, and even if he did it’s probably too late. Kevin thinks that if he doesn’t tell somebody he’s probably going to _explode_.

“I mean, I’m not a lesbian,” he says, trying his best to gather his thoughts. “I’m not bisexual. I’m not having same-sex attraction at all. I’m not really having anything. There’s something else wrong, something else entirely, and I don’t know what it _is._ ”

“Sister-”

“Don’t _call_ me that!” he snaps. “My name is Kevin!”

Elder McKinley is silent.

Kevin’s heart is pounding in his temples, and he feels blood rush to his face, burning and painful and _he never meant to say that._  Now Elder McKinley _knows._

“If you’re having trouble with, um, confusion,” Elder McKinley murmurs, his eyes very determinedly looking off towards the tuft of grass near his feet, “you can turn it off. Just… push those feelings down. It’s not too hard, if-”

Kevin laughs. “That doesn’t work,” he says. “You have no idea how long I’ve been dealing with this. There’s no way to turn it off. This isn’t going to go away.”

“And ‘this’ is…?” he asks softly.

“You heard me,” Kevin replies, tugging at his frazzled ponytail with frantic fingers. “I’m not a girl. I don’t want to be called ‘Sister’, or ‘Kaitlyn’, or ‘a woman after God’s own heart’ or any of that. I want… my name is Kevin.”

“Kevin,” Elder McKinley repeats, quiet and meaninglessly. “You want to be called ‘Kevin’.”

He jerks his head in a quick nod. Why he’s said it, he doesn’t know. Gosh, why did he _say_ that? And to Elder McKinley, of all people? As if _he'_ s going to understand. He probably still thinks he can just stop being gay like he can turn off the lights. If it worked that way, why wouldn’t everybody be straight, and-

Elder McKinley smiles.

It’s not really that comforting, and it’s definitely strained around the edges, but at least he’s _trying_ , and he’s not on his feet and heading back to the mission house to place a call to the mission president.

“Would you like me to call you ‘Elder’, too?” he asks.

Kevin shrugs stiffly. “Does it matter?” he asks. “It’s not like I can tell anyone else.”

“Well, between us, I meant.”

“I already told you my name.”

Now he’s taken aback.

“I… you… is that okay?”

Kevin closes his eyes. “Yeah,” he says. “I guess. I don’t… I don’t really know. It’s been a long day.”

Elder McKinley nods. “That’s true,” he says, “Kevin.”

The corner of Kevin’s mouth quirks up in a hint of a smile, inadvertently. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Just… keep it between us for now?”

“Of course, s- of course.”

Kevin shoots him a look, and he blushes.

“I’ve known for all of a minute,” he says defensively. “I’m not going to get it perfect right away.”

Kevin smiles for real this time. “It’s okay,” he says. “I’ve never told anybody before, so it’s not like you’ve got a standard to live up to.”

Elder McKinley doesn’t reply, and Kevin turns to look at him, a little confused. He’s not going to start getting offended or grossed out _now_ , is he? But no; he’s holding one hand over his mouth, and, if Kevin didn’t know better, he’d say he was starting to tear up.

“Elder McKinley?” he ventures.

The other man clears his throat, smiling a little and folding his hands in his lap. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I just… we’re both… I mean, I haven’t been through what you have, obviously, but… you know I like… that I’ve suffered from- that is, that I-”

“That you’re gay,” Kevin fills in. “Yeah, I gathered as much.”

“Yes, well,” Elder McKinley says, averting his eyes, “I haven’t exactly been subtle. But, what I mean is that, the two of us, we… we have something in common, anyway.”

“We’re both weird?”

“‘Queer’ is the right term, actually,” Elder McKinley replies. “But, yes, we’re both… weird.”

“I can’t tell anyone,” Kevin says. He realizes his hair is wrapped so tightly around his finger he can’t feel anything anymore, and quickly untwists it. “Somebody would probably kill me, or I’d be kicked out of the church.”

“Didn’t that already happen?” Elder McKinley asks, cocking his head. “I mean, you were the one who convinced us all to stay anyway.”

“I… did do that.” What was Kevin thinking? He’s trying to help people, of course, but…  “There’s no way to help these people and share Sister Cunningham’s teachings if we don’t stay, right? And… that has to be a good thing.” Gosh, he owes her _such_ an apology.

“It’s certainly something,” Elder McKinley says. “What was that phrase of yours? ‘Something amazing’? ‘Something…’”

“Something incredible,” Kevin replies automatically. “How did you know?”

Elder McKinley straightens up, tensing his shoulders, and squeaks, “‘I can’t do something incredible here! I’m going to get a transfer so I can finally do something worthwhile on my mission!’”

Kevin shoves him good-naturedly. “I don’t sound like that,” he says, grinning. “But… did I really say that?”

Elder McKinley shrugs, smiling in return. “Something along those lines,” he replies. “I was more worried about the fact that you were trying to run out the door alone and covered in blood. And that the mission president wanted a report, of course.”

“Well, we saw how _that_ worked out.”

Elder McKinley chuckles. “We certainly did,” he says. He falls silent, and suddenly Kevin realizes how late it is. The sun set who knows how long ago, and now everything is resting in that hazy half-light, blue and shadowy and transient, that only exists at twilight. Elder McKinley’s hair looks brown like this, and Kevin can’t see the little stains and blemishes and imperfections all over him. Maybe that means he can’t see Kevin’s, either. He smirks a little at the thought. No amount of shade can cover up his long hair, his full lips, his curvy hips and his breasts and the fact that he’ll never have the parts Elder McKinley is attracted to. But, for now, his hand doesn’t look so slim and womanly, and he holds it out, palm up, in offering.

He sees Elder McKinley hesitate. He wishes there was a way to know what he’s thinking; does he not want to touch Kevin because he’s ‘Sister Price’ and it’s inappropriate, or because he’s ‘Kevin’?

Elder McKinley takes his hand.

“Thanks,” Kevin says, softly. “I…”

“You’re welcome,” Elder McKinley replies. “And, Kevin, you never asked, but… my name is Connor.”

“Connor?”

“So our conversations… I mean, so… I know your name, and you know mine. It’s fair that way.”

Kevin smiles, and squeezes his hand. “Thank you, Connor,” he says.

“Of course, Kevin.”

The sun slips fully below the horizon, and, as everything goes dark, Kevin takes a deep breath. Finally, at least for this moment, he feels right.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave kudos/comment, or feel free to shoot me a message at my tumblr (greerian, and no, I will never figure out how to actually add a link there).


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